


An Offering

by cookie_full_of_arsenic



Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: AroAce Sweeney, Asexual Character, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mad Sweeney POV, Missing Scene, Platonic Cuddling, Spooning, Sweeney might be getting a squish on Shadow, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 15:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookie_full_of_arsenic/pseuds/cookie_full_of_arsenic
Summary: Just two big, touch-starved dudes having a cuddle.





	An Offering

**Author's Note:**

> For obvious reasons, there are lots of sexy fics where Shadow and Sweeney fight and then fuck. But my little ace brain was craving something where they fight and then cuddle. So here is my weird, angsty cuddle fic. Enjoy!

Sweeney cleaned the blood off his face in the bathroom. His body was still singing. Heart still pounding. A good fight was better than sex. Then again, a lot of things were better than sex, in his opinion. A nice whisky, or a cool breeze on a hot day, or a wank, or being hugged by someone who meant it.

He examined his face in the tiny mirror above the sink. Only a little damage, which was surprising given how much he’d bled. Someone had once told him that redheads keep their blood close to the surface. Sweeney liked to think that he kept most things close to the surface. Not like the fella he’d been fighting, Shadow fucking Moon. No, that man obviously kept it all bottled up until someone like Sweeney came and uncorked him.

Really, he’d been doing the guy a favour. Sweeney told himself that so that he didn’t feel guilty about helping Grimnir manipulate the poor sod. He wasn’t ready to come down from the high of the fight.

To that end, he went back into the bar in search of alcohol. He took his Southern Comfort and coke and sat down beside Shadow, who was nursing his bruised knuckles and a serious-looking drink. Not the best idea, on top of all that mead, but the lad was big enough to make his own mistakes.

“So how was it for you, darling?” he said.

Shadow glared at him, and Sweeney idly considered whether he fancied another round. He decided, reluctantly, that he wasn’t up to it, so there was no point in riling the man any further.

“You gonna show me that coin trick” said Shadow. It was phrased as a question, but his tone made it sound like a command.

“I’m a man of my word,” said Sweeney. “But let’s wind down a bit first, yeah?”

Somewhat surprisingly, Shadow didn’t push it. The two of them sat there and dank. And drank. And drank. At first, Sweeney thought that Shadow was trying to prove something, but then he realised the guy was just trying to ease the pain.

That was when Sweeney showed him the coin trick. He opened a hole in the air, no bigger than a keyhole. He cupped the back of Shadow’s neck and guided his face towards the opening so that he could see the hoard, glittering away beyond the reach of mortal men.

“That’s where they’re from,” said Sweeney, his hand still on Shadow’s neck.

Shadow pulled away from the hole in the air, looking dazed. “That’s incredible,” he said. Then, “This is embarrassing, but I think I have to throw up.”

***

Sweeney went outside with Shadow, because Wednesday’s mead often made people lose consciousness at the drop of a hat. The man didn’t pass out, or throw up. Just leaned against the wall of the bar, looking nauseous and miserable.

“Did you lose your gag reflex in prison?” Sweeney inquired casually, lighting up a cigarette.

Shadow turned his head gingerly toward Sweeney and said “How much has he told you about me?”

Huh. Even with all that liquor sloshing around his brain, the man was still quick.

“He told me your name, and that you just got out. That’s all I remember, anyhow.” Sweeney did his best to look disinterested. “Now let’s find you a place to crash while you’re still upright.”

***

The motel was just across the street from the bar, and probably did a decent trade in rooms for drunks. Shadow leaned on Sweeney as they walked. His arm around Sweeney’s shoulders. Sweeney’s arm around his waist. By the time they got to the lobby, Shadow was only semi-conscious and Sweeney took the room key from the Receptionist with the air of a long-suffering wife.

He deposited Shadow on the bed with very little care, then took off his dirty shoes to spare the motel linen. It was probably covered in the residue of dozens of extra-marital affairs, but at least this would be one less stain for the maids to deal with.

The room was overly warm, so Sweeney shrugged off his jacket and opened the window, letting in the hum of traffic from the freeway along with a breeze that smelled like approaching rain. When he turned away from the window, Shadow was turned on his side, looking at him. He clumsily patted the space beside him on the bed.

“Come lie down with me,” he said.

Shit.

Once upon a time, Sweeney might have said yes to that. Over the centuries, he’d gone to bed with men, women and a couple of people who weren’t easily classified as either. But it had slowly become apparent that the sex wasn’t what he wanted from them, and he hadn’t even come close to fucking anyone in over a decade.

“Sorry lad, but I’m a fighter, not a lover.”

“Shit, I didn’t mean… I meant it literally. You look tired, is all.”

Now that, Sweeney could believe. It had been a long day, and his back was beginning to ache. He also believed that Shadow had no intention of fucking him. He usually spotted those signals quickly and managed to deflect them.

“Comfy, is it?” He gestured vaguely at the bed.

“Yeah.”

“Mm.”

Sweeney stepped out of his shoes and lay down on the bed. His back was grateful for this, and rewarded him with a very pleasant kind of pain. He only had a few seconds to enjoy it before Shadow started with the questions.

“What did you mean? That you’re a fighter, not a lover?”

“I thought you wanted to fuck.”

“Could’ve just said you’re not gay.”

“Well, I’m not.” He could have just left it there. He didn’t usually bother explaining himself because people were generally clueless and annoying about it. Shadow was probably as clueless and annoying as any of them. Still… “I’m not straight either, mind.”

“You’re bi?”

“Try again.”

“Uh, what’s the other one … pansexual?”

“Sort of the opposite of that.”

Shadow was silent, and when Sweeney glanced at him, he looked like he was trying to solve particularly complicated algebra equations. Sweeney huffed a frustrated sigh and wondered if a sharp smack upside the head would help clear Shadow’s mead-addled brain. Then, miracle of miracles, Shadow got this lightbulb sort of look on his face and said “Oh. You don’t like anybody.”

You don’t like anybody. How could someone be completely wrong and completely right at the same time? Before Sweeney could respond, Shadow said “Man, I can’t imagine…” and just trailed off, the rude bastard. If Sweeney hadn’t been so comfortable, he probably would have punched him.

“You’ve not got laid in three years and you’re still standing. Figuratively speaking.”

“Yeah, but it was Laura who kept me going, in prison. You can take any kind of loneliness when you know it’s gonna end, eventually.”

Laura. She was the last person Sweeney wanted to talk about. Unfortunately, Shadow had other ideas.

“I’m never gonna see her again,” he said, in a dry, factual kind of voice, like he was still processing it.

Sweeney was suddenly aware that something ached, right in the centre of him. It might have been guilt, except it wasn’t. Shit, it was empathy. Shadow must be one of those people.

Sweeney wasn’t prone to infatuations of any kind, but there were certain people he felt … drawn to. He started to get upset when they were upset and happy when they were happy. And that was a pain in the arse, because it meant he wanted to make them happy. Like now, all he wanted to do was comfort Shadow. To ease the pain that he was responsible for. He reached out across the space between them and put a hand on Shadow’s arm.

Shadow was still for a moment, then inched unmistakably toward Sweeney. Sweeney slid his hand from Shadow’s arm to his back, drawing the man closer to him. After a few clumsy, fumbling seconds, they were pressed together. Arms around each other. Shadow’s face in the crook of his neck. Sweeney stroked his back, slow and careful. Grief was an unpredictable thing, and Sweeney didn’t know if Shadow was going to cry, or try to kiss him, or get embarrassed and wriggle out of Sweeney’s grasp. He didn’t want any of those things to happen.

“It’s okay,” Sweeney murmured, as if he were talking to a skittish colt. “It’s okay. I know how it feels.”

“No you don’t.” The words were muffled against Sweeney’s neck, but he still caught them. And they pissed him off, though not enough to make him stop stroking Shadow’s back.

“What, you think I’ve never lost anyone? Or d’you think lovers have some kind of priority on grief?”

“No, I just mean … you can’t know how it feels because it doesn’t feel like anything, right now. All I can feel is what you’re doing.”

Okay then. He’d got to that numb stage, where you barely notice what’s happening beneath your skin. The booze had probably played its part in that. It couldn’t last, of course, but the man was entitled to a little respite. So Sweeney kept doing what he was doing.

Shadow might have been numb, but Sweeney certainly wasn’t. He felt simultaneously like a pile of horse dung and the king of the world. A pile of horse dung, because he had killed this man’s wife. He had taken a life, and fucked up any number of lives connected to it, and the proof was right here, drunk and grieving in his arms. The king of the world, because to be held like this happened once in a blue moon. Physical affection was something that happened before and after sex, and since he wasn’t having sex, he wasn’t getting any of the good stuff that surrounded it. Perhaps he was taking advantage of Shadow. Then again, the man needed it as much as he did, if not more.

There was nothing like the human body to bring a troubled spirit back down to earth. Specifically, Shadow’s body, which grew suddenly restless and shifted about clumsily. After a moment’s confusion, it dawned on Sweeney that Shadow had barely been touched in three years, and certain parts of him might be overwhelmed by all this physical contact. He thought, rather bitterly, that Shadow would squirm out of his grip and tell him to leave. But instead, the man just turned around in Sweeney’s arms.

Sweeney held him very lightly for a moment, letting him slow his breathing and think of Grandma’s tits or whatever he had to do to get rid of a boner. Then, when he’d had time to calm down, Sweeney pressed up against him and spooned him good and proper. Shadow settled into it quickly. A man his size probably wasn’t used to being the little spoon, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was so fucking warm, like he had a fire burning inside him. Sweeney imagined doing this on a very cold night, then felt like an idiot. The chances of this happening more than once were negligible.

He wanted to stay awake and savour it, but felt himself drifting off despite his best efforts. It was Shadow’s fault, really. For fighting all the energy out of him, then being so warm and comforting in his arms.

Suddenly, he remembered. He’d promised Shadow a coin. Drowsily, he dragged his hand away from Shadow’s chest and plucked a coin from the hoard, hoping for a nice, shiny one. He pressed it into Shadow’s hand, and Shadow gave a little snore – the fucker had already fallen asleep.

“Oi, wake up,” Sweeney whispered.

“Mmmwhat?”

“I promised you a coin if you fought me. And you fought me, so here’s your fucking coin.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Shadow’s fist closed around the coin.

It was worthless, really. A bit of metal that couldn’t be exchanged for goods nor services. But Shadow was good at fighting and good at snuggling and Sweeney wanted to give him something, however useless it was. It was an offering, of sorts. Sweeney’s type of worship had always been small, and simple.


End file.
